


Bruised Knuckles & Bad Memories

by voguethranduil



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And that's what he's gonna get, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of Peggy - Freeform, One Shot, PTSD, Platonic Relationships, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Avengers (2012), Steve Rogers just needs a friend, tw: PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voguethranduil/pseuds/voguethranduil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has learned to isolate his feelings all of his life, and makes it a burden upon himself. Rather than taking it out on himself, Nick Fury appoints reader to befriend him, who has also been a victim of PTSD. Once the two have become best of friends, she witnesses the Captain in a vulnerable moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruised Knuckles & Bad Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So lately, I've been thinking. A lot of people recognize the PTSD within Bucky, Natasha, Sam, etc., but not a lot of people see it in Steve. I think it's important that it's recognized in his character, so I've written this one shot about Steve and how he copes with it. 
> 
> Set before The Avengers, after he has been defrosted.  
> Platonic relationship, which is what he desperatly needs.
> 
> Read this post, which goes into more depth on Steve + PTSD. 
> 
> http://mcumeta.tumblr.com/post/96784741308/steve-rogers-in-avengers-part-1-what-we-lost
> 
> Also, major trigger warning for excessive mentions of PTSD.

All of his life, Steve Rogers knew how to hide his emotions very well. Anybody who’s anybody knew that before he got his life changed by the serum, he was the runt of Brooklyn. He was constantly picked on, by bigger men who knew that they could easily win a fight with him. And with that kind of psychological torment, he quickly learned how to hide his emotions, and drown himself in distractions.

Whenever he needed to let off some steam, he simply isolated himself. A prime example of that, was after Bucky fell from the train. He hauled himself to an empty, beat up pub to drink. There were many other times back in the forties he did this; pre-serum and post-serum. And in the present day, ever since he was defrosted, he has drowned himself in focusing on work, to distract him from... himself.

You had met Steve through Nick Fury, who urged you to get to know him. You had thought it was strange, until you had begun to understand why he wanted you to get to know Steve. You, yourself had been through long periods of having PTSD, and really felt for him. God only know’s what he was feeling, after waking up in a whole new era of life.

Once you two began to acquaint with one another, it started off as coffee and donuts once a week, just chatting with each other. He often told stories of when he was younger, and things he would do for fun, whereas you would tell him about your childhood. You noticed how frequent he would change the subject of dating; and you respected that, not daring to ask about his personal relationships. Soon, coffee and donuts escalated to going on evening walks three times a week; again, just letting each other talk about life and whatever was on your mind at that moment in time. He had even been given a cell phone, in which he grew quite accustomed with. He would text you on the nights you weren’t together, asking how your day went, and you would ask him the same.

It had become apparent to Fury that you two were becoming very good friends, and that was the best thing Steve needed right now.

Later, you found yourself at his apartment in the nice part of New York, making cookies; while he sat on the counter and played you music from the forties. And he would find himself at your apartment, with you cuddled into his side, watching classics from the early 80s; and eating popcorn until both of your stomaches became bloated. It also became a norm for the two of you to sometimes even end up snuggling in bed with each other, when you were both too tired to drive each other back home.

Typically, if this were anyone else, the man would be sure to try something. But Steve, he had gained a lot of respect for you. Most times, he would be propped up on to the headboard with a pillow behind him; and you would nestle your cheek into the crook of where neck met his shoulder.

“Are you sure this is... okay?” He would ask.

“S’okay. You’re comfy.” You would reply, already half asleep.

And then he’d turn off the light, and try to get as much sleep as he could; knowing you would be angry with him if he kept only getting around two hours every night.

This particular night; he had challenged you to see who could do more laps around the track, that was outside of his apartment. His apartment had a high quality gym; which was free for the tenants use. Being as stubborn as you are, you eagerly accepted.

“You know, I was in cross country in high school.” You boasted, stretching your legs.

He playfully scoffed. “I’m a super-soldier.”

And after you started your forth lap, he was already on his eighth.

Huffing, you came to a stop, and dropped your arms to your knees.

“I give up!” You panted, wiping sweat from your brow.

His laugh approached from behind, and he came to a halt next to you. Looking up, the bastard had barely broken a sweat.

“Damn you. I can barely breathe.” You spat jokingly, straightening your body.

He placed his hands on his hips, and responded, “Don’t take it personally.” Turning, so his back was facing you, he looked over his shoulder, and added, “Hop on.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and jumped onto his back, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, and arms wrapping around his pecs.

Once you both got back, you took turns taking showers. It was around ten p.m., and that race had completely ran you down. Not even bothering to dry your hair, you plopped onto Steve’s bed, wearing a pair of shorts and one of t-shirts that was laying in the bathroom. Stuffing your face in a pillow, the bed suddenly dipped, and his light laugh filled the room.

“Nice shirt. Are you spending the night?” He softly asked.

All you managed was a muffled ‘mhmm,’ and he adjusted you to a more comfortable position; wrapped up in his soft sheets. Almost immediately, you fell asleep. Steve laid down next to you, and switched off the light.

Tonight was one of those nights where Steve was scared to fall asleep. He constantly had nightmares. Sometimes they were of the war, other’s they were the night he saw his best friend die, but most times; they were of the dreadful helicraft he plunged into the ocean. And he kept that hidden from you, because he didn’t want to seem needy or pitiful. So after about an hour or so, he grabbed some wrist wraps, and changed into sweats and a wife beater. Quietly, he left for the gym.

As your hand ghosted over to the side of Steve’s bed, the only thing that you felt was the crinkle of the sheets. Groggily sitting your upper half up, the clock read 3:25 a.m. Sighing, you stood up and wrapped your arms around your chest, and looked around his apartment.

No Steve.

Sitting on the plush couch in the living room, you looked out of the large window. Bingo.

Steve’s broad silhouette could be seen, his arms taking turns in assaulting a punching bag. Even from up in the building, you could sense that something was not okay. Pulling on some sandals, and one of Steve’s hoodies, you made your way to the empty gym. Opening the glass door, you just leaned against the wall, taking in the sight of him.

His breath was puffing out of his lips evenly, and loud enough to hear. Sweat had soaked through his tank top, and his back muscles were tense. Not wanting to break his concentration, you let him beat on the bag. It felt like hours, and you began to wonder if you should just leave, and go make pancakes for the morning. But as you began to take that opportunity, you heard a loud bang. Swinging your body back to its original stance, you raised a brow. Steve had punched the bag so hard that it broke off the chain, and was thrown about thirty feet back into the wall. He began to walk to several other bags, laying on the ground, to put another one up.

Something definitely was not right. And you two were at the point where you felt like he could handle being confronted by you.

“Hey.” You announced quietly, making your presence known.

He looked over at you, as he slung a bag over his shoulder. “You should go back to sleep, you have that meeting with Maria at noon, remember?” He casually reminded you, as he hung the bag on the chain.

As he resumed to punch it, as you strut to the other side of it, holding the sides. Looking into his blue eyes, the normal kindness was not in them. There was built up tension, anger in them. Something he had been hiding ever since he had woken up.

“What’s going on?” You stated, making it clear that you weren’t just asking.

He stopped his fists, and he had a hard emotion painted on his face.

“Nothing, I just couldn’t sleep.” He uttered, beginning to play with the wraps around his palms.

“C’mon, Rogers. Something’s bothering you. And you’re gonna tell me, because we’re friends.” You cautiously pressed.

He sighed, replied, “You’re my only friend.”

“More of a reason to get whatever is bothering you off of your chest.” You exclaimed.

Taking his hot hands in yours, you led him to a makeshift kitchen in the gym. It was a counter, microwave, and a fridge, and a small table. Sitting him down, he looked relucant.

Going through a couple drawers, you found a washcloth, and drenched it in hot water. You felt him watching your actions, with curiosity.

Moving a chair, so that it was directly in front of Steve, you took your place and began to unwrap the gauze.

“Before you say anything,” you began calmly. “I know that you have PTSD. And it was damn inevitable for you not to get it.” As the right hand was completely free of the wrap, you turned his hand to see that he was punching the bag so hard, bruises were already forming on his knuckles. Using the washcloth, you held it on to his knuckles. “I know what it’s like. After I got hired on to S.H.I.E.L.D., one of the missions they sent me on, nearly destroyed me once I got back.” You added, as his jaw began to clench. It wasn’t out of anger, but out of sadness. “I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t even go out. I was terrified that I was going to be gunned down at any second.” Rubbing your free hand on his forearm, it was a sign of safety. You wanted to let him know that it was okay to open up.  
“I guess what I’m trying to say, is that it’s okay to accept it. Because once you do, you can grow even stronger to overcome it. And it might take a while, but in the end, it’s all worth it.”

He just shifted his view to his lap, as you ended your little speech. Letting him process it, you delicately did the same treatment to the left hand that you did the right.

“I really appreciate you telling me that. But... my story is just so different from yours.” He muttered, retrieving his hand from yours. “I woke up in a completely different time period. They told me we won the war. But then Fury, dumps on me that the thing that made me lose it all has fallen into enemy hands.” By now, he had stood up, and walked over to the counter, leaning his arms on the edge. It was evident he was trying not to lose his cool, which was something he’s only done a few times in his life. Standing up cautiously, you stood behind him, and let him continue.

“I died for that damn thing _not_ to ever be recovered. I lost everything I knew. I lost the two people in my life that believed in me when no one else did. Hell, I don’t even know if... if Peggy is alive or not.” His voice cracked at the girl’s name.

You had been well aware of who Peggy was, but did not want to bring it up. You wanted him too.

“It’s like I died, for _nothing_.” He shouted, suddenly shoving the microwave (in an almost inhuman speed, might I add) towards the wall, causing it to break on impact. You gasped, and saw him turn around.

Tears were falling, and his cheeks were flushed. This was a side of him that no one has seen.

“I can’t take that on again. I’m not the man for the job. The pressure of living up to the great ‘Captain America’ is too much. I... I just can’t do it.” He said, in almost a whisper. He wiped some of his tears away, and looked down at his feet.

“Oh, Steve.” You whispered, courageously cupping his cheek, with one hand. You let your thumb swipe away some of the tears. Your heart was so full of sympathy for him. You barely could imagine the weight of this whole situation he was baring on his shoulders.

“There’s so much more to you than you know.” You whisper, feeling yourself even tear up. “You’re not just Captain America. You’re a man who’s willing to fight for what he believes in, and for what he loves. You’re Steve Rogers, _a good man, not a perfect soldier_. And that’s the person you will always be.” You finished.

There were a few moments of silence, before he wrapped his arms around your middle, and pulled your head into his neck, enveloping you in a tight hug. Reciprocating to the hug, you wrapped your arms around his back; feeling a few of his tears seep through the shoulder of the t-shirt you were wearing.

“Thank you, (y/n). Thank you so much.” He finally said, his words being a bit muffled by your hair.

Slightly pulling away, you gave him a genuine smile. Without even thinking, your lips found their way to his cheek, and planted a kiss onto his cheek.

“Anytime, Stevie. Now, it’s only 4:15, let’s get you showered up and I’ll make some pancakes.” You ordered, leading the way back to his apartment.

And from that day on, you two became the most inseparable duo in S.H.I.E.L.D., and Steve knew that you were someone he could lean on, if he needed someone to not just see him, as the great Captain America.

 


End file.
